Vivere
by Tafar
Summary: There are some things no teenager should ever be forced to live through...fatherhood, mutilation, forced relocation and death. It's just too bad that the innocence of youth is a luxury that can't be afforded. OCs, Death, Slash, Preg.
1. She

**VIVERE  
Chapter One: She**

"**We have traveled this world for years.  
We have consoled each other's fears.  
We dried each other's tears.  
Yet always in doubt, and never in bed  
Of we.**

**With a fever, with a passion  
within anger or with compassion  
In a rage, when distrustful,  
when she's screaming or when she's lustful."**

Author's Note: This story takes place during the timeline of Terminator Salvation. I am going to state quite plainly that I like reviews and find them encouraging. If you like what you see, please comment and keep reading. If you don't like it, please stop reading and find something that suits your fancy. You are free to do that ^_^

**Story Summary: In the year 2018 Skynet's influence has spread effortlessly over the globe. Humanity struggles to keep its toe-hold in a dying ecosystem that no longer has the will to support them. Mankind's only hope is the relentless men and women of the Resistance spread in small pockets all over the earth. This is the story of one team's desperate bid for survival as they are forced to flee the Machines when their base is overrun.**

**Disclaimer: Skynet and all official characters of the Terminator franchise do NOT belong to me.**

**~***~**

**September 8, 2018**

**Ross Cutter winced visibly from his tiny corner of the cellar hide-out. He could hear very plainly the crashing that echoed from down the claustrophobic hallway and he was afraid. Not even a Hunter-Killer made that kind of racket. No, nothing mechanical could replicate the horrific din that was filling up his ears and all the corridors in their private cement tomb. He held his breath and waited for a moment until footsteps echoed down the hallway towards his room, their quick pattering followed by the weighty crash of something taking flight in a way that it was never meant to.**

**Almost on cue, something tapped urgently on his door, "Doctor? May I please come in?"**

**Allowing himself a small, indulgent smile, the doctor slipped a little lower into his seat and called out, "You're welcome to hide out in here until she calms down, Ratchet." **

**The door opened, admitting a quite small and harried looking youth. The boy was whip-thin and wiry, all muscle and bone but still on the skinny side of malnourished. He sported a rather impressive bruise over one of his velvet-brown eyes and a very contrite look lingered around his down-turned mouth. Doctor Cutter couldn't quite resist comparing his guest with a kicked puppy come to hide and lick his numerous wounds.**

"**I am wery sorry, Doctor…but Tucker…she vas upset vith me," Ratchet apologized in his garbled Russian way, sitting down in an available seat.**

**Cutter looked sympathetic, "The same old argument?"**

"**She is restless. She says that ve are useless out here and she vishes ve vould attempt a meeting vith a main branch of ze Resistance. I tell her she is not in state to mowe and she trows tings at me," the kicked puppy look got downright pathetic, pulling at the edges of Ratchet's huge brown peepers.**

"**Mood swings, eh?" The older doctor asked, chuckling when the lad, affectionately called Ratchet, nodded, "Well that's to be expected, son. Pregnancy makes women a little bit restless and emotional."**

"**I had hoped wonders ceased vith the daily womiting."**

**The practical doctor just chuckled at the boy's woes, "Well, I hate to tell you, kiddo, but babies happen when you stick it in someone on a regular basis."**

"**I am not regretting fathering ze baby…"**

"**Well that's good. It's a bit late to start having second thoughts."**

"**You seem wery relaxed about all zis."**

"**I'm not the one being used as target practice nor am I the one who will have to worry about 3 am diaper calls once the baby comes in a month," Doctor Cutter couldn't resist sounding smug, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.**

**Ratchet's painfully young face shifted. The soft, puppy-dog look in his visage faded and was replaced by something that added at least ten years to his boyish features. He looked a weary 30 instead of a lively 18. Concern and something akin to cold fear drifted across his eyes and Ross watched it carefully, gauging what he was looking at. He watched as the small shoulders tensed up and the long-fingered hands knotted together.**

"**Ratchet…Pietr…tell me what's bothering you," Ross prompted.**

**For a moment, the Russian said nothing, turning inward in his sudden vein of deep thought. It took another soft verbal jab to get him focusing again, "…doctor…how can you be relaxed about zis?"**

"**What are your concerns?" The Doctor's brows drew together as he studied the boy.**

"Wery soon, there will be an infant here. Zere are only three of us here. Ve hardly hawe enough ourselwes…" Ratchet put his face in his hands.

Ross only steepled his fingers and listened, looking over the tips of them to study the much younger boy as he continued to voice his worries, "Here ve are protected. Ve find vays to protect ourselwes and continue resisting."

"But Tucker wants to move us closer to San Francisco," Doctor Ross finished in a very deadpan tone.

Pietr "Ratchet" Genya nodded grimly.

Ratchet, Ross and Tucker were the only three remaining members of the small pocket Resistance group working out of Roswell, New Mexico from the basement of an abandoned military bunker.

Once, the place had belonged to a somewhat larger conglomeration of Resistance fighters. Secured as they were in what was often referred to as 'the concrete tomb', the rag-tag team had been free to stockpile what weapons they could scavenge and conduct their lives out of the view of Skynet's many HK units. Out of sheer luck they had managed to secure for themselves the perfect sniper's hideaway, fighting machines in controlled bursts before disappearing underground once more. It was a method that worked. It kept them alive and fighting day after day.

At least…it had until Tucker had become restless.

Her family of the nation's former military before the ominous events of Judgment Day, Tucker had command in her blood. She had always longed to be close to the action. To be honest, ending up in Roswell had only been a fluke on her part after an injury separated her from the rest of her team during a mission in the area. While she'd recovered, she'd been happy enough to stick around with the tiny band that had rescued her. She'd stayed longer thanks to her interest in their little mechanic, Ratchet…but as of late her mind had wandered back to San Francisco. At first there had only been suggestions, but in the past 8 months her fixation had intensified thanks to her 'condition'.

Despite being a calm and rational man, Doctor Ross had to admit that her disposition was annoying. Ratchet found it selfish. Neither said a word.

Ross exhaled firmly through his nose, "Goddamn the both of you for being so irresponsible."

If Tucker hadn't been with Ratchet's child, both of the remaining men would have just let her go the minute she'd started insisting. However, the baby complicated matters. Baby or no baby, Tucker was determined to rendezvous with the Resistance in San Francisco. If they would simply stay at the underground bunker, the baby could be reared in some semblance of safety, but the woman wouldn't hear of it and Ratchet wouldn't let her travel alone with his child. Essentially, the team was losing whatever edge they had thanks to the indomitable temper of a stubborn young woman.

"Doesn't it burn you at all that she wants to drag all of us PLUS a newborn baby into danger?" The doctor goaded lightly.

"I do not like ze voman, Doctor, but it iz my responsibility…" Ratchet sounded defeated, knotting both hands up into his shaggy, brown hair.

Ross's thin lips quirked, "If you don't like her, then why did you sleep with her?"

"Attention from an older voman…it iz…flattering. It vas only once…"

"That's all it takes, kid. I'm just pissed that you're learning it the hard way."

A tense silence stretched out between the two of them. Doctor Ross remembered a time when, despite the dangers of their bleak world, he and the young Russian had known some measure of contentment. Their friendship was long-standing and it brought them camaraderie…comfort. On occasion, Ross had even indulged in Ratchet's body when the stress became too much for either of them. The feeling of brotherhood was still there, but it was strained by the foreign variable Tucker represented.

"How do I care for child out zere, Doctor?" Ratchet sounded miserable. His accent (and mastery of the English language) always worsened when he was stressed.

"Damned if I know, Pietr. If I had my way, your kid would be born, warm and safe, right here in the bunker and KEPT here where the HKs can't find us. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like either of us are going to get our ways."

Ratchet was silent for another long moment before biting down on his soft, pink lower lip, the painful youth back on his face, "…I should go back to Tucker." He stood to go.

The taller doctor stood as well, drifting over and wrapping the teenager into a quick embrace, kissing the top of his head. Most days he could stay completely professional around Ratchet. After all, now that the boy was going to be a father, they had put an end to their occasional flings. However, there was something terribly vulnerable about the smaller Russian right now and Russ found himself responding to it as he had in the past. It almost hurt that Pietr didn't offer him anything back, pulling away instead, his eyes on the ground.

"Nyet, Doctor," Ratchet said in soft tones before disappearing back out the door.

~***~

"Why do you always leave?"

The small Russian stopped short at the greeting he received as he tried to re-enter his room.

Tucker was sitting alone under a threadbare sheet on the tattered pallet that functioned as Ratchet's bed. She was only in her undergarments, the sheet barely rising over the small swell in her abdomen. Her long, auburn hair was loose around her shoulders and her gray eyes were focused on her own loosely clasped fingers. She didn't even bother to look up at Ratchet to know it was him.

For a moment, Ratchet hesitated before shrugging out of his battered old military jacket and exposing the equally damaged hoodie underneath, "I do not like being around you vhen you are throwing tings at my head."

"I'm sorry," she sighed.

Pursing his lips softly, Ratchet shook his head and started yanking off his shoes, "Iz not your fault. Doctor Ross says iz because of ze baby."

"You're trying to be gracious. Are you that scared of pissing me off?" Tucker gave him a small, rueful smile.

"You gave me a bleck eye."

"I'm sorry for that too, then. I'm just going stir crazy. I don't know what's happening with the rest of the Resistance. I don't know any of the new developments. All I know is the inside of this miserable little bunker."

Ratchet gave her the sharpest look he could muster as he sat down on the edge of his bed, "Zis is my home. Newer forget zat, Tucker. Ve are still ze Resistance ewen if we are smaller."

The older woman smiled a little and it was a sad smile, "You've got such a fire in you, Pietr."

"I know. Iz why you slept vith me," he teased, trying to let go of his resentment.

"Seduced you is more like."

"Da. Zat too."

She reached up to brush the back of her knuckles against his cheek, "You don't love me at all."

"Nyet...but you do not love me either."

"I wasn't accusing you, Pietr. It was a one night stand. I guess I'm just curious. You don't love me and I don't love you, but every time I scream at you, you always come back not an hour later."

Sighing and forcing a small smile, the Russian boy laid a slender hand over her stomach, "Iz because you are still comrade, ewen if I do not love you. Iz also my responsibility to you and to ze baby. Ve must…how does Doctor Ross say…stick together."

Tucker smiled back and pulled Ratchet down so that he lay next to her, tucking her head up under his chin. He allowed it easily and wrapped protective arms around her. No, he didn't love her in the way a man should love the mother of his baby, but there were still the occasional flashes of fondness she inspired in him. The way it was these days, you learned to be at least a little bit compassionate for the people you worked with or you could very well die. Ratchet's smile became a little more real as Tucker took his hand, her eyes slipping shut.

Returning to his room hadn't been nearly as traumatic as anticipated. It allowed the boy's adrenaline to sluice harmlessly off, leaving him exhausted. He drifted off to sleep almost as quickly as the woman beside him.

The bunker was silent around them.

~***~

September 10, 2018

Eyes hidden behind black-tinted goggles smeared with the dirt of the desert, Ratchet scanned the barren landscape for any signs of life. He pulled his bandana up over his mouth and pulled his hoodie low over his brow before sneaking out of the hidden bunker entrance. It had been almost two weeks since their last strike against the machines and it was finally safe to make another foray out. After all, they needed to sweep the area clean before they made their next supply run. Ross wanted the area clear in time for Tucker to deliver. He swore he'd be damned before he delivered a screaming baby while fighting off Hunter Killers.

God bless the practicality of doctors.

Shouldering his war-worn MP7, Ratchet jogged off across the landscape, keeping his head low and his eyes open. All around him, abandoned military installations rose up against the skyline like broken teeth. The small Russian boy used them to his advantage, ducking behind a shattered wall and checking a tripwire they'd installed there about three months ago. It was still taut. Nothing had come by this way.

Ratchet carefully stepped over the wire and circled around towards where he knew the back entrance of the underground complex was. It was a good sign that nothing had found their front door. Now he just needed to make sure that nothing had wandered into their back door. Who knew? Maybe they'd gone underground so long in this god-forsaken slice of nowhere that Skynet had stopped sending machines into the area. It was wishful thinking, pure and simple, but hey, kids were allowed to dream.

His feet were silent in the dust as he jogged along, only his gear rustling and shuffling. He mused that he'd never seen the desert this silent. Not even a lizard stirred in the dirt. It would make hunting difficult in the coming weeks, but it was a good sign.

As he neared the back of their complex, the small boy kept his eyes peeled for signs of trouble. His guard was lax. The whole place looked downright deserted, no signs of either animal or machine. None of their traps had been tripped and there were no tell-tale signs of recent activity anywhere. He eased off with the sneaking and just began to walk, never seeing the subtle changes wrought to the landscape. Not until his foot hit the re-aligned trip wire.

In an instant, the taut wire sent him face first into the earth, cracking the lenses in his goggles and leaving a bloody line down his face from a rock. It didn't help that the sudden collision with the ground triggered a completely new hidden mechanism buried discreetly under the dirt. It was a beartrap…archaic, but brutally efficient. When Ratchet put his hands out to cushion his fall, the left one landed right on the trigger and the beastly thing snapped closed over his forearm. His surprised wail of agony rent the air as the teeth of it crunched through skin, muscle and bone.

His gun went skittering off across the terrain, leaving him helpless and chained to the ground. It seemed that perhaps there had been Terminator activity of a more delicate sort than they were used to. SOMETHING had managed to sabotage their booby-traps. Ratchet groaned, watching his red blood seep into the thirsty soil.

Distantly, he thought he heard a drone whirring in the air. An Aerostat was coming, lured by the sound of his scream. It was coming to check the traps.

Other machines would follow.

~***~

The tiny hairs on the back of Tucker's nape stood on end.

She had been sitting at a small, purloined desk working on putting her gun back together after a cleaning when the scream had cut across her consciousness. The acoustics of the concrete bunker were perfect for carrying the sound of agony. From the timbre of it, she knew immediately who it was and stood on wobbly legs, completely ignoring the rounded bulge at her belly that did its damndest to hinder her movement. Her knuckles were white from the grip she had on her gun as she ran out of the room and down the hallway.

Tucker yelled as she went, "Ross! Doctor Ross! Pietr's in trouble!"

The scruffy doctor was out of his room and holding a weapon before she had even finished her sentence, his eyes wild and dark, "I heard him. The whole damn desert probably heard him. It came from near the rear entrance. You – "

"Do NOT tell me to stay here," Tucker threatened, her green eyes flashing.

"Woman! I will tell you to stay wherever you're needed! If there IS a trap and you go charging out there, you could kill your kid!" Ross was a snarling inferno of anxiety over their youngest teammate and he was in no mood to argue with Tucker again.

She cocked her gun and shoved past him, "Fuck you! I'm not leaving Pietr out there! He's still green!"

"Tucker!"

Both of them were running. Tucker was putting out top speeds just to reach the end of the hallway and get to the surface. Russ was hauling ass to grab Tucker and throw her in a closet somewhere until all of this was over. How the hell could a pregnant woman run so damn fast anyway? It seemed like every step he took equaled two or three for her and before he knew it, she was pelting out into the tainted sunshine beyond their hidden back-door. The doctor let out a growl and did his level best to follow, his jaw falling open when he finally emerged in time to freeze right next to Tucker.

The scene was gruesome beyond anything either of them had seen in a long time.

The T-600 had dragged Ratchet up by his right arm, thoroughly mangling the left one when it was yanked forcefully out of the bear-trap that had pinioned him until its arrival. The small Russian fluttered on the edges of consciousness, clearly having taken a beating for struggling. No Harvesters had come yet, but that was likely because it was anticipated that no more than this Terminator unit would be needed. Ratchet was groaning weakly as a cold gun-muzzle nudged his temple. The Terminator had subdued its victim accordingly, preparing to finish the job.

"PIETR!" Tucker yelled out, throwing herself forward. She was drawing attention, trying to distract the T-600 until she could afford to take a shot without hurting the wounded mechanic.

Frozen, Ross could only watch in horror at the sick play unfolding in front of his eyes. He felt his gut go cold as Tucker slammed her small body into the metal side of the hulking beast, sending it a little off balance and giving it incentive to drop Ratchet. Ross's blood froze when the T-600, hands free, hit the woman so hard with the back of its massive hand that it sent her flying like a ragdoll. The doctor could hear something in her crack as she hit a free-standing wall. It was that sound that broke whatever trance he'd been in.

Gritting his teeth, Ross aimed at the now-unnarmed and unoccupied T-600. He showered the monstrosity with bullets, spraying face and abdomen with a mindless will born of desperation. His teeth were gritted. Even when the Terminator unit took a few shuddering steps in his direction, Ross didn't waver. There was too much adrenaline pumping through his veins for him to possibly consider being afraid. Distantly, the doctor became aware of an animal scream ripping through the dusty air and, in some vague corner of his mind; he knew that it was him.

The T-600 got close enough for him to see sparks jumping off of its mangled wiring harness before it finally collapsed. The hellish red light in its eyes faded, but Ross didn't stick around. He gave the monster a kick in the head out of spite before running over to his fallen teammates.

Though mangled and miserable, leaking blood like a faucet, Ratchet had managed to hobble over to where Tucker was laying. Assessing him from a distance, Ross could already see that the Russian was not only suffering from a nearly mutilated arm, but also from a broken leg. He had probably gotten it from the last minute scuffle with the T-600 before they'd found him. If his state hadn't managed to distress the doctor, then the look in his big brown eyes certainly would have. Ross knew that wide-eyed look of concern very well. Something was very, very wrong.

"Pietr, how is she?!"

The boy shook his head, trying desperately to rouse her, "She's breathing, but not responding…she's slumped all weird…like her back…"

"Is broken," Ross finished bluntly, "Damnit! It must have happened when the Terminator threw her. I can't fix this…fuck!"

Ross avoided looking at Ratchet, knowing that horrible look of stripped innocence he'd see if he did. He hated that look because he knew it usually meant there was nothing he could do, but he couldn't block out the tremulous sound of Ratchet's light tenor, "What…what about the baby?"

For a moment, Ross froze.

Doctor mode followed swiftly, "Get her inside, now!"

Tucker was unconscious, so moving her would be easy enough. She wouldn't be awake to feel the rending agony of a broken spine being manipulated and moved. It was a fortunate thing since Ross had to move her alone. Ratchet's arm was too far gone for him to do any lifting. All the small mechanic could do was stumble along, limping as rapidly as possible to keep up and almost falling multiple times as he struggled down the steps. He watched helplessly as Ross disappeared into the nearest open room, knowing good and well that the man would begin the process of ripping the mother of his child open.

Ratchet stopped short in the hallway. He couldn't make his feet take another step knowing what was waiting for him. He was terrified of what he'd see and his arm was still burning with white-hot anguish.

Self-loathing ate at Ratchet as he slumped. If only he'd paid attention…then maybe things wouldn't have gone to hell like this. If he'd kept his eyes open he wouldn't be hiding in the hallway while Ross cut open a dying woman to save a dying baby…HIS baby. He was nauseous from the pain of his arm, dizzy and cold from the blood loss, weak from the shock and filled with a deep shame over what he had caused today. Those wretched feelings clung to him as he slowly slipped into the blank nothingness of unconsciousness. Honestly, he didn't really want to wake up again.

~***~

September 11, 2018

Consciousness trickled back slowly, light filtering back in like pieces of a puzzle dropping through the ether. It was painful.

Things came in fractured flashes of realization.

First, Ratchet knew that he was laying back on something a bit softer than the floor (but not by much). Next was that his entire body ached. It didn't burn anymore, but instead his entire being was infused with a very cold, very stiff sort of atrophied feeling. His damaged arm sort of seemed to tingle now instead of pulse with torment although wiggling his fingers was the oddest sensation he'd ever experienced. The last thing he became aware of was the face of Doctor Ross Cutter looking down at him through a hazy halo of light spreading out from the naked bulb overhead.

Ratchet blinked blearily as the good doctor's voice sifted through his fog, "There is a god. At least I managed to save SOMEONE today." It was not a happy voice.

"R-Ross?" Ratchet choked out, his pupils rapidly fluctuating as they tried to adjust to the light. It made him look drunk.

"Don't move, Pietr. You're probably still dizzy as hell."

"Vhere…vhere am I?" The small Russian asked and tried to reach up to wave the doctor off. That was odd…only one of his arms responded. The other must have been a sling or something then.

"You're in your room. Look, Pietr…"

"Where's Tucker?"

It was the next piece of the puzzle that came back to the ailing mechanic. He was worried when Ross didn't respond to him, only pushing soft brown hair out of his eyes and avoiding the question for a moment. The concern he felt when the Doctor CONTINUED to avoid the question brought the earlier events into startling clarity. Instead of the steady filter he'd been receiving, the memories were now a violent tidal wave, each crashing home with the force of a sledgehammer. Ratchet gasped and tried to sit up, only to be forced back down by the stronger, taller Ross.

"Ross! Vhere's Tucker?!"

Ross winced and then sighed, "Pietr…there wasn't anything I could do for her. That hit mangled her. Even under ideal circumstances with the best doctors in the world she was a goner. I took her out and laid her to rest this morning."

The look of pure, hollow loneliness that consumed the teen's face almost killed Ross. The tone of his voice when the boy spoke again was enough to test Ross's already dubious faith in God, "…ze baby…?"

Ross's lips thinned, "Pietr…"

"Iz my baby alright?!"

"I don't want you to see her, Ratchet."

"Fuck you! If my baby is aliwe, I vant to see!"

"Pietr! Listen to me! I don't think you should!"

The doctor grabbed the small Russian's shoulders and forced him back down onto the pad of worn blankets that he called a bed. He looked at him seriously, almost desperately. He would do anything right now to dissuade Ratchet from seeing the child that Tucker had delivered, but the boy was wild-eyed, trying to struggle in his desperation. Ross inwardly cursed the fucking crazy world they lived in that forced teenagers to endure this kind of sheer misery, studying the child who had fathered a child.

At last he sighed and relented. The dark-haired doctor stood and moved over to a box filled with ripped up sheets, reaching in and pulling out a small lump. He took a moment to study the thing before walking back to the bed and settling it gently against Ratchet's chest, watching as the boy instinctively cradled it with his good arm. A part of the doctor wilted inside when the other arm tried to do the same, fumbling pathetically to do so without the hand it used to be attached to. Luckily, the teenager seemed too awe-stricken by the tiny life in his arms to notice that he was down a hand.

The boy's chocolate brown eyes were massive and doe-like with wonder, "It…it is so small, Doctor…"

"I still don't know if she's strong enough to make it yet, Pietr. I didn't want you to see her and get attached if she's going to die," Ross explained his earlier reluctance.

"She? I hawe…I hawe daughter?" Pietr's English slipped as his breath hitched.

Pietr stared down at the tiny, pale face nestled down in blankets. It seemed so fragile…so small…and so helpless. In all of his young life, the Russian boy had never felt so humbled and so frightened. He was utterly absorbed by the girl he held in his arms, too absorbed to see the look of unmitigated apprehension that was eating its way across Ross's face.

When the doctor spoke, it was tentative, "Pietr, don't name her."

"Vhat?" The teenage Resistance fighter unconsciously tried to hold the infant closer.

"I still don't know if she's going to live out the week or not, Pietr. Until I know…don't name her. If you do, it will be ten times more painful if she dies. So just…don't."

"But…"

"If she lives the rest of the week," Ross said firmly before reaching down and taking the infant back, sitting on the edge of Ratchet's bed.

Ratchet almost seemed ready to argue until he caught sight of the stump where his left hand had once been. It was an ample distraction from his daughter. All he could do was stare in horror until, at last, he lowered the arm back down to the bed. Ratchet didn't ask how or why. He knew all of that. His teeth were clenched hard to fight back the tears that thought he was too old to spill.

Doctor Ross Cutter wished for the tears that he thought proved some shred of childhood innocence had survived.


	2. Breathe

Vivere  
Chapter Two: Breathe

"Since the first day I was alive,  
I feared we would meet here in the misty outside.  
I wanted to run. I wanted to hide.  
I wish I could Breathe.

I fear I can't overcome this place.  
I know your face, your hands.  
I wish I could breathe."

~***~

September 20, 2018

He had named her Eva. In his tongue it meant "To Live".

It was a wonder of nature that the undersized, premature infant had struggled through the week. Since the frighteningly pre-meditated attack by the Machines, Ross and Ratchet had battened down the hatches and gone into lock-down. They hadn't ventured to the surface in a week in order to hide from Skynet's forces, nurse their many wounds and nurse their young. Ratchet was only just able to leave his bed, but he still spent most of his time sitting in his room, the infant Eva held to his chest. It was only luck that Ross had been clever enough to find a way to feed Eva otherwise she wouldn't have made it this far at all.

The two-man team had made it through the roughest part. Ross was content to believe that. All they had to do was reinforce their little rat-hole and just hold out. He was disappointed to find that Ratchet didn't share his sentiments.

It had been two days since he had allowed the small mechanic to name his daughter and the boy had been brooding ever since. It wasn't like the Ratchet that the Doctor was so accustomed to. Normally, Ratchet was the sort of boy to just bounce back, to rebound immediately from injury or tragedy and keep up the good fight. He had done it when every single one of their other teammates was killed in the field. He had mourned for a day or two only to come right back with a new tenacity. Ross had come to believe that sorrow sloughed off of the tiny Russian like water off a duck's back.

This new response was…different. It was almost insulting.

Perhaps that was why, when the doctor found Ratchet brooding alone in his room again, he simply couldn't hold his temper, "You know that arm should be just about healed up."

Ratchet started a bit. He hadn't realized that the doctor had come into his room. Unconsciously, his arms tightened around Eva and for some reason that irritated Ross.

"Are you still experiencing any stiffness?" The doctor pressed his smaller teammate with a cynical look on his face.

"Nyet," the Russian said simply, his brown eyes not quite looking at his old friend.

"None at all?" Ross wheedled, his words of concern laced with bitter acid.

"Nyet, doctor."

"I would have thought with the way you've just been sitting around that maybe you were still in some pain."

Suddenly Ratchet seemed to get it and his eyes narrowed, "Vhat are you driwing at, Ross?"

"Why are you just sitting on your ass, Ratchet? We've got a lot to think about! A lot to do! We've got to reinforce the bunker and get ready for a siege! Normally you're the first person up and itching for something to do!" Ross gesticulated, flustered.

The boy gave him a sharp look, the same one he'd used on Tucker. It meant he was nearing the end of his patience, "You hawe been negging at me all veek! For ze lowe of God, Ross! Tucker just died! Giwe me time to think!"

"You NEVER took this long when any of your FRIENDS died, Ratchet! Pietr, for chrissakes, she wasn't even one of us! When your twin brother had his FACE ripped off you didn't stay depressed so long! It's offensive to our fallen to just mope around over some random WOMAN when you hardly gave them a DAY'S thought!"

"THAT IZ ENOUGH!" Ratchet stood up with a yell, immediately looking contrite as Eva started to cry.

Looking defeated, the small Russian sat back down and pulled her close, trying to quiet her again fearfully. His eyes lifted towards the ceiling almost as though he imagined her cries would reveal them.

"You're right, Pietr. It IS enough," Ross didn't let up.

"Stoppit, Ross…" the young boy managed to mutter, his shoulders slumping and his voice very small, "Vhat…vhat do you vant from me?"

"I want you to get up and go back to normal."

"Nothing is normal anymore. How can you order me to act like ewerything is normal when it is not? Nothing is like it vas before…" When Ratchet looked up at the good doctor again, he looked very young and very afraid.

Immediately, Ross began to regret his tirade. In his selfish need to have everything stable and familiar, he'd allowed himself to forget that his teammate was just a boy. He was an 18 year old boy who had just lost his hand and gained a daughter. Of course nothing felt normal anymore. The idea of being a one-handed mechanic in a warzone had to be terrifying. More scary still was the idea of raising a child as the only biological parent. How in the hell had Ross let himself forget any of that? The doctor's posture lost a bit of its stiff, put-upon air.

When he spoke again, he was unsure, "Pietr…Ratchet…"

The boy shook his head and Ross walked over, sitting down next to him and putting a large hand on Eva's chest. It was a sign of acceptance for the child and of apology, "Ratchet, I'm sorry I brought up Misha."

Ratchet winced and the Doctor felt sorrier still. Misha was a painful memory for Pietr and he'd known it. Hell, he'd used it just to get a reaction and now he was regretting it.

Misha and Pietr had both been born in 2000 in Moscow, brought over to the states together by a single mother after their father had simply walked out on them one day. They had been 4 when Judgment Day had come and survived only on the kindness of strangers during the horrible nuclear war that had nearly destroyed the world and killed their mother. They had been together from the beginning and Misha had only died a year earlier, taken down during a field raid.

For a long moment, Ratchet said nothing.

At last, he let out a shuddering breath, "I know…that I need to be vorking…but…nothing in me vants to mowe."

"That's despression, Ratchet," Ross said softly.

"I am afraid."

"Tell me why," Of course, the doctor, KNEW why, but he also knew that part of the healing process was to talk things out.

"I…I do not know vhat to do!" Ratchet whimpered.

"Why does that frighten you?"

"I…I hawe alvays known vhat to do in the past. Now…there is no vay to tell. How do I fight vith only one hand? How do I raise baby vithout her mother? Ewerything…it seems…so unsure."

"Allow me to reassure you a little bit?"

"I am not sure that you can, Ross."

The doctor tried a smile, gently taking Eva from her nervous father and holding the baby himself. It was the first time since her birth that he'd bothered aside from doing his Hippocratic duty. Ratchet watched him with huge, wary eyes. The boy's hand lingered in the air, ready to snatch his little girl back if things went where he wasn't comfortable. Ross just gave his younger friend a soothing look before studying the little girl.

"Ratchet, you still know what to do. We survive. That's the only thing we can do."

"Da…but…"

Ross held up one finger and tutted, "No buts! As for your hand, you're a clever kid. Don't you remember the time you broke your right hand and had to shoot with your left? You tucked the gun butt into your elbow or against your chest. You can just do that again. Besides, it's possible to be a mechanic with one hand."

"That still does not answer vhat I do with Eva," Ratchet lamented, watching the doctor like a hawk while he held the infant.

"Are you worried because of your father…?"

"Da. I newer had father. How can I be father without an example?"

"I'll tell you what. How about you do what feels right and I'll do my best to help you along? I remember my father quite clearly, after all," Ross tried to make up for his cruelty earlier by placing a soft kiss on the young boy's forehead.

Finally Ratchet seemed to relax just a little bit, "You must promise."

"I promise."

"There is something else, Ross," the Russian said nervously, running gentle fingers over his daughter's face to hide his anxiety.

The doctor said nothing, so Ratchet continued softly, "Ve cannot stay here. The machines…they know that we are here and they are willing to vait for us to show ourselves. If it comes down to it, the machines will come and get us. The time has come to find a new base."

"Look…just because that T-600 stumbled on us…"

"Nyet! It vas not coincidence! My tripvires had been RESET to catch vun of US. I did not lose my arm to the robot. I lost it to the beartrap that had been set under the wire. Ve are playing a wery dangerous vaiting game now, Ross, and I know ve vill lose it if ve try to vait them out."

"So you think trying to move with a newborn is a better idea?" Ross sounded completely incredulous at the idea.

"I beliewe ve vould hawe a better chance on the road then ve vould here in a hole now that the machines know vhere to find us."

"This isn't because of Tucker, right?"

Ratchet shook his head and looked guilty, "Nyet…is because of my own stupidity."

"Ratchet, you couldn't have possibly known that the tripwires had been moved around. Why do you still insist on beating yourself to hell over that? It's not healthy and it's not helping," Ross tried very hard not to look frustrated.

The russian's eyes were dark, almost black with resolve, "Ve do not liwe in a vorld vhere ve can make mistakes, Ross. I let my guard down and fell into a trap because of it."

Ross pinched his sinuses and leaned back against the wall, still sitting next to Ratchet on the bed. He gave up with arguing for a minute, just watching his smaller companion fuss over his runt daughter. The whole world had gone insane if you asked the doctor's opinion. How in the HELL did Pietr expect them to survive a blind run into the nuclear wilderness with an infant? Ross knew he was right about their situation as it was now…if they didn't do something they would die like rabbits trapped in a hole, but to just run? Ross just didn't see how it was going to work.

The habitual creature inside the doctor urged him to find another way, to make it possible to stay in the little bunker that had kept them safe all these years. However, the human survivalist in him knew better. That little latter voice in him was disgusted at the thought of huddling down in a fucking HOLE to be dug out and KILLED by machines. It was that part of him that had dragged the former physician into his role as a Resistance fighter rather than a mere civilian scrabbling to hide, making nothing better. The two sides warred silently behind Ross's eyes while he sat in silence next to Ratchet.

The Russian noticed, "…Ross?"

"We'll have to take a jeep," the dark haired doctor finally said, making his choice with a heavy heart, "Do we have any hidden out that are in good repair?"

"…I could hawe one ready to run after a night of work. The hand vill slow me down. You vill hawe to vatch Ewa while I vork," Ratchet sounded every bit as nervous and unsure as he did.

"How long until we risk this damn fool plan?"

"Ve should not linger too long or ve may lose whatever secrecy ve still hawe. Vun more veek. Ve pack up the supplies that ve need, I fix the jeep and then ve leave at dawn on the last day of this veek."

"Ratchet…we might not survive to see this madness through, you know that."

"Da, but I know for certain that ve VILL die if ve do nothing at all."

"Alright, if we're really going to do this, then we need to have some sort of destination planned. We need to have an endpoint somewhere. We can't just go wandering. Where do you have in mind…if you have any place in mind…" Doctor Ross still felt unsure.

"Ve go vherever there's Resistance to be found," Ratchet shrugged, standing and walking over to where his daughter's little box-crib lay. He tucked her in to it and sighed heavily. He was a child with the world on his shoulders.

Ross stood up as well, giving his friend on last long look, almost as if it were the last time he would ever see him, and departed.

~***~

September 27, 2018

The morning was not cold, but it was clammy. There was a moisture in the air that cut into Pietr Genya's very bones as he and his doctor friend crept like thieves over the terrain. They had spent the past week surreptitiously doing repairs to the lone hidden jeep left over from the compound's military history and loading it with what supplies they had left. The period of planning was over. It was the appointed day and the appointed time. All that was left now was to put their plan into action: To escape as quickly and quietly as possible.

Before the sun had even come up, Ross and Ratchet had roused up and dressed, layering their clothing on. Ratchet still wore his dilapidated green military coat and the dark hoodie beneath it (the hood was drawn up over his hair to obscure his features) along with his shabby form-fitting pants and heavy combat boots. For the long trip he had added a thick glove over his one good hand and a high-necked jacket between the two he normally wore. He had a heavy scarf wrapped around his neck and up over his nose, his cracked goggles pulled low and his daughter in a sling across his chest so he could keep an eye on her.

The doctor had drugged her earlier that morning to see that she stayed silent.

Ross himself had settled on anything with deep pockets where he could store the pitiful remains of his medical gear. Most of what he had scrounged up was the military gear that he had managed to pilfer over the years, but always with pockets. Pockets were important to Ross Cutter. The only thing that tied him and Ratchet together were the bright red armbands that they wore. After all, they had both earned them, if not in the past two weeks, then in the many years that had preceded them.

The two of them crawled and crept along towards where they had hidden their escape vehicle. Their eyes were glued to the ground to check and make sure that no more nasty traps had been set for them and their tread was light for caution's sake. They barely dared to breathe and they could hear their hearts thundering fitfully in their ears. The duo would pause every couple of minutes, freezing completely like rabbits in a car's headlights before moving on again. It felt to them as though a Terminator lurked around every corner.

A journey of ten minutes felt like one of hours and by the time they finally reached their worn, pock-marked jeep they were shuddering with pent-up adrenaline. Ross could see Ratchet's hands shuddering around the small bundle that held his daughter. The doctor only hoped that his young mechanic could keep himself together long enough to get the hell out of here. Luckily the kid wouldn't have to drive even if he knew their vehicle ten times better than the doctor himself. Ross just didn't trust Ratchet behind the wheel right now…no way, no how.

Ross Cutter didn't really want to die…especially not in something as asinine as a car accident.

The jeep fired up once both of the men were inside and the coast was suitably clear before they rolled out into the streaky dawn light. Ratchet's mouth pulled down into a low frown as he peered over his shoulder, watching their little shelter fade away into the distance. The small Russian already felt oddly homesick as he lost sight of the bunker he'd called home for so many long, hard years. He suddenly thought of Misha…of Tucker and all their other lost family buried in the dirt behind them. Something in his narrow chest hitched and he irrationally wondered if they would be lonely now that he, Ross and Eva were leaving.

Hands firm on the wheel, Ross cut a look over at Ratchet and caught the look on his face, "If you look any further inward, your eyes are going to roll back into your head, brat."

"I am…I am being silly, Doctor. Do not mind me," Ratchet tried to wave him off, pushing his goggles up on his face.

Ross sighed and shook his head, "Kid, I am going to drag your feelings out of you if I have to pin you against the dashboard to do it. Best make it easy on yourself and just TALK."

"Doctor…I haf just realized…ve vill be leawing behind Misha, Tucker and all of the others. I just…I just found myself vondering if they will be lonely. I vonder…I vonder if anyvun vill care if they find their bodies," the boy sighed heavily.

Dr. Cutter looked away from their path long enough to lock on to his companion's burdened chocolate gaze, "Misha would kick your ass if he could hear you like this. You know how much he hated moping. You know he never once dwelled on something he couldn't change. Tucker wouldn't have liked it either." He smiled to soften his harsh words.

He was happy to see Ratchet attempt a smile in return.

~***~

Once the sun set they camped in the jeep after feeding Eva and slipping her another very light round of drugs to see her peacefully through the night. Ratchet was curled up in the backseat with a gun laid on the floor in grabbing range, his high-necked jacket rolled up as a pillow and Eva tucked in a ramshackle bundle in a corner. He had his arms folded over his chest to keep warm in the desert night, burrowed down into his remaining jackets with his feet propped against the opposite window. The small boy was dozing lightly, completely worn out and Ross didn't blame him.

Allowing himself a slightly fond smile, Ross reached back and ran his thick, calloused fingers over Ratchet's hair. The touch was gentle so he wouldn't wake the youth up. Kid needed all the sleep he could get. He WAS doing double duty, after all. He was playing the roles of both father and Resistance fighter now. Ross wished the days where he could just invite the younger man to his bed when he was feeling burdened. He wondered idly if he'd ever experience the meager joy of waking up with the tiny Russian nude in his arms, innocent and dreaming, again.

Lost in thought, he almost didn't see brown eyes regarding him quietly.

"You'we got that look in your eyes, Ross," Ratchet's voice was thick and rough with interrupted sleep.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Ross apologized, leaning back to his half of the car.

At least…he tried to retreat until he caught a small, sinewy hand on his wrist. In an instant, his eyes locked on the small Russian's again and they just stared at each other. Ross could feel those slender fingers travel up his hirsute forearm and they trailed fire in their wake, the pads barely touching. Those abundantly emotional eyes were filled with something Ross hadn't thought he'd see again, fucking hell…those were the kid's BEDROOM eyes. Before he could even properly comprehend what was happening, Ratchet had slipped out of the backseat with the grace of a snake and was seated in his lap, just watching him.

Eyes wide and caterpillar-thick eyebrows raised into his hairline, the doctor whispered, "Pietr…what are you doing?"

"That should be wery, wery obwious, Ross," the Russian breathed against his collarbone.

"Eva…" Ross tried to protest, barely biting back a moan as those quick, clever little fingers found their way under his layered shirts.

"Is fast asleep and vill not know vhat ve are doing. Please, Ross? I see in your eyes. You need this. I need this," that boyish tenor was almost pleading and by GOD if it didn't go straight to Ross's already swelling erection.

Ross's head rolled back and he let out a little groan, hips bucking underneath Pietr, "Why now…?"

"I need to make the vorld fade out…" this time Pietr's voice was so low that it was a whisper, "…like before." He peppered his words with little kisses.

This…this was something Pietr and Ross had gone through for all the years they'd known each other and it was something the doctor understood implicitly. The Russian had been forced to grow up so fast that, in a way, it had retarded some small part of him. There were times when the independent impulse in him just broke down and he needed to give up control. Ross knew it was why the pretty Russian only slept with people who were a good deal older than him. It was the boy's only real frailty.

"Okay," Ross murmured against his lips, giving in, "okay."

The floodgates opened.

Their hands moved hot and frantic against one another and clothes were feverishly pushed aside as the two fought to expose as much skin as possible while the moment was still theirs. It was a difficult process with Ratchet's missing hand and Ross couldn't help but shudder with mild horror when the stump accidentally bumped him. He could feel that his partner was doing his level best to keep the offending appendage away out of shame and it wasn't helping the Russian relax any. The doctor decided to take action.

Capturing Ratchet's lips in a deep, consuming kiss that was sure to leave bruises (if not blood), Ross pushed the boy backwards onto the front seat, grasping his stump firmly for leverage. The little gasp he got out of the Russian was worth it. By now the boy had completely reverted back to his mother tongue, but quietly. Whenever he started to get too loud, the doctor would hush him with another fierce kiss. Pressing a hand down against the slender ribs, Ross could feel the boy's powerful heart racing in his chest and that…that small sign of life…it was one of the sexiest things the doctor had felt in a long, long time.

He pushed his hands into the boy's hair, using it to lean Ratchet's head back against the seat, nipping a trail down his lean throat. Ross delighted in feeling the small body writhing beneath his, skin against skin. He growled. If Pietr was giving up control, he'd take it.

One hand grasped Pietr's good wrist, pulling it up and pinning it above the boy's head, tugging until his back curved into a fine arch. All of his muscles were pressed flush to the doctor's sturdier frame. He was trembling, almost vibrating against the older man. A particularly hard bite to his shoulder had his eyes rolling back, his head dropping onto the seat by his restrained arm as he fought back whimpers. Pietr was balanced on the razor's edge between relaxation and anxiety, relieved when his lover took control away from him and yet brutally tense with sexual need.

Ross's hand fumbled in one of his deep pockets for a small tube of aloe he knew he still had. It would have to do. Frankly, he'd done the boy with less.

Still semi-clothed, completely hot and bothered, both males rubbed against one another as Ross slicked his fingers and pushed into Pietr's ass. The boy grunted, shaking his head and further mussing his brown almost-curls. Hair stuck to his face and neck, slicked up with sweat as he tried to find pleasure through the haze of familiar pain, his mouth open in a silent cry. His brain was caught in a fever, his ability to reason burned away by the wildfire of desperate lust. He was nerve endings…nerve endings and need.

Pietr barely registered when Ross moved on top of him, settling between his legs and sliding in. It was a fight to get the invader seated firmly inside of him even greased up as it was. The friction was lessened, but nothing could ease the agonizing burn of being completely filled after almost a year of nothing there. It hurt. By GOD did it hurt and all the petite Russian could do to express his anguish was press his sharp little nails into the muscular hand that still held him captive. He couldn't even cry out.

The thrusts against him were forceful and demanding, his smaller body bending just to accommodate the power behind them. Pietr's toes curled and he brought his damaged forearm up over his mouth to muffle little shouts that would have otherwise escaped. He shuddered uncontrollably, jerking and huffing with every rough movement into his body even as the pleasure began to bleed through the pain. The only words he allowed himself were small affirmations of affection for Ross, all in Russian.

Their joining was hasty and both men climaxed quickly, silent as church mice, before collapsing against one another. Ross panted heavily and pressed a gentle kiss into Pietr's forehead when it was done. He carefully helped both of them back into their clothes.

When the doctor spoke, it was with the same awed reverence usually reserved only for basking in the afterglow with his Russian, "Pietr…"

Released, Pietr threw his arms around Ross in a lazy embrace, saying nothing. His chest was still heaving, but he chanced a small smile before rolling over a bit. Ross shifted with him so they lay down beside each other, squeezed into the narrow seat, before both closed their eyes. Sleep came easier that night than it had in ten long months.

~***~

The wake-up call Ross expected was from the cold muzzle of a gun barrel pressed against his temple.

To Be Continued…

~***~

Author's Note: Well, there's chapter two. In case you haven't noticed, no canon characters have made an appearance yet. Perhaps none ever will. I wanted to tell a story of the other survivors in Terminator's hellish apocalyptic wasteland. I hope that no one's disappointed and that everyone can find something to enjoy before this story's completion!

Also, cookies to anyone who can guess where the Chapter Titles come from!


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